the Rift


little white moon flower | knox

Cassandra Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#1
She stands, an effigy made of rust and iron, moonlight pooling into her silver eyes like puddles of holy water. There is no movement, no quaver of heartbeat nor rasp of breath, just her presence; a haunted thing in this big dark forest.

There is emptiness in those eyes - but there is also the hint of anger, a vicious glint. It runs through her blood, pumps through her heart - she takes a breath - she can smell it in the air like expiration. It sings in her veins, this primal hate.

He lays before her, an ugly assembly of bones and half-consumed muscle clothed in scraps of grey fur. This cannot be not him, her father is tall and black and strong; he is alive, he fought for her and she can taste his blood on her tongue, can feel their love with every beat of her heart. With a look of revulsion, she nudges his cheek where the line of shimmering teeth ends and where frayed slate skin reveals dry corroding meat. This does not smell of forest, he does not smell of Father, the corpse smells of fear and spilled blood.

The girl runs her tongue tenderly over the congealed gore at his throat and pauses. It is him, the one who saved her from darkness and rain. She finds herself longing hopelessly for the warmth of their hollow tree. How could he lead her through oceans and deserts and forests just to find his rotting body? How can she even be sure her magic is correct?

Breathing heavily, the daughter turns her face from his sight, but his smell permeates through the air. It is the heady smell of rot and blood. She tears from his side to find a half-wilted flower which shines pure white in the moonlight. Picking it gently, the sad angry girl places it on his face like a sacrifice, for was he not her god, her father?

Knox Posts: 262
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17hh :: 7 Years [Tallsun] HP: 67.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Jen
#2

image by deadair @ flickr.com</style>

round up all the pieces, but they just don't fit the same.</style>



Little defective colt watches from the shadows. He has come to visit the corpse of the stallion who he knows to have been his father; he comes to relive his first meal. The taste sticks to his throat with a sense of indelibility- he knows he shan't ever forget the taste. At his heels rests the nearly healed Manhattan, lying in the dark grass and almost blending in. The pair was born to live in these woods, deep, dark, and mysterious just like them. As young as she is, Manhattan is learning a life of no fear from her master. Her eyes, once a pure blue, seem to grow steely and with each passing day. His have been this way since that first taste of blood.

He sees the filly in the clearing and his head cocks to the side curiously. She brushes the corpse, seems to take in the scent of death and then acts as if she is disappointed. What did she expect death would smell like? Or had she been looking for the soul that had once burned with passion within the breast of this corpse, the remains of his father? Manhattan lifts herself from the earth and, with a light limp, brushes past Knox and out into the bushes, apparently just as curious as to the corpse's origin as the strange, blood marked filly. In the dark, his pale bridle glows and three voices speak at once, arguing clamorously about the results of their victory over the fallen Sentinel before him. He cannot make them stop this time; he is too close to the scene of his birth and his father's death. And now, standing alone amongst the trees, he watches as another defiles the very spot.

Frustrated with Manhattan but unable to call her back without making himself known, he steps forth and breaks into the dimly lit clearing to stand before the mare. Manhattan has settled before the corpse, but lays no paw upon the rotting flesh. He wonders why she does not tear at the meat hungrily, why she watches with a look of sad respect. He has not seen such emotion play across her features in days, why now, before the body of his deceased father, does she break her hold on herself?

He too gazes at the body, but only briefly. It is the filly he must face, with her pure white coat a true vision in the dark of the deep woods. Between her jaws rests a moonflower, white and pure. The voices cease their fighting to agree that nothing is pure. They warn him that she is more than she appears; he does not listen. Softly he speaks.

"Have you found what you were looking for?"


knox</style>
& manhattan</style>


Cassandra Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#3
Movement. Strange pale eyes snap towards the swarthy darkness of the forest, narrowing in suspicion, but there is only the stagnancy of silence and the quiver of her breath. She relaxes, resigns herself to watch the corpse, even if it is not the Sentinel's, even if it is. Moonlight reigns above the tall crown of the dark forest although the sky is shrouded with clouds.

Stronger movement - leaves rustle as if possessed, branches groan as they are bent and pulled: black dog crawls from the bushes; young, limping slightly, easy pickings. Cassandra feels her body tense, bloodred ears snapping against her poll like frightened birds. She bares teeth which glisten in the dim light. She wants to tear this pup from sight, she wants it to leave her alone with her father. Muscles bulge, ripple, steel colored tail lashing against her haunches.

The flower lays innocently on the deceased.

More black - a colt follows the dog, bridle glowing softly on his face. Teeth snap towards them; she is standing defensively over what had been the head of the Sentinel, a shadow cast over the white flower by the mass of her dark iron body. She knows that bridle, although once it had been the color of dirt, of dry flesh. Has this babe defaced her father, stolen whatever last scrap of identity he had, leaving only his blood? The eyes take on a new glint - like the flat of a blade. He speaks with the gentle voice of a child but the girl can only hear the taunting in his voice grating against the back of her skull, can only feel the sadness and anger rising in her throat like bile.

"No," she answers, voice betraying her heart, "leave me alone."

Her body trembles, fury flushed from her system like a virus.

She cries.

Knox Posts: 262
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17hh :: 7 Years [Tallsun] HP: 67.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Jen
#4

image by deadair @ flickr.com</style>

round up all the pieces, but they just don't fit the same.</style>



Little defective colt doesn't know what comfort is. He sees nothing but the moonflower fall to rest on his father's corpse, but the wild hatred in the filly's eyes as she prepares to lunge towards Manhattan. His face, expressionless until this point, turns into a mask of rage as he lunges forward defensively. His teeth, ever tasting of the Sentinel's blood, snap at empty air, and he lets out an unearthly sound- the sound of man and eagle, of panther, otter, and stag. He feels his father's blood boil within him as the bridle constricts around his face and seems to darken even as it glows a bright, wicked green. The voices rise and turn into cries of terror, and he recalls a memory that is not his own.

In the darkness of the mansion three wicked beings had slumped across the arms of their thrones, picking apart each other's flesh with long claws that curled around themselves and were stained red with the blood of the stallion's brother, who lay torn and innocent upon the floor of the castle.

Knox's father had just been a small gray draft then, as he stood before the three.


The colt backs away, feeling the pain of an inherited curse tear at his chest as the magic in his bridle interferes with his reality. The voices turn into murmurs of approval, and he only has a second to glance at the filly with fear before he is flung once more into memory.

A smooth white bridle rests upon his brother's face, stained red from the attack, and the colt named Johnny lifts it easily off of the mangled face and places it with difficulty over his own features.

Three imps laugh like hyenas in their chairs, and motion to the colt to leave. He stays.


Knox feels pain rising within him, an indescribable emotion that he has never before encountered. The bridle across his nose fades for a second and then brightens once more as the memories of its previous owner return to haunt the living.

He knows that to leave is to face shut doors and certain death- he refuses to leave. He has promised his mother he will return with his brother's bridle and the taste of revenge hot on his lips. She didn't believe him.

The imps cease their cackling in unison as the colt steps forth. He has not done as they have asked, and they cannot resist the urge to tame the untamable.

The three resolve to steal his soul.


Knox shakes his head in fury and denial, and Manhattan come sout from behind him, her whimpers faint and concerned. The young colt's eyes twist shut and his head begins to pound as the voices chant together.

A blessing is given and the colt is enveloped in shadow. His coat shifts to black and the bridle does the same with it- he feels his body shift its form and sees the world clearer than ever before. He feels his name slip away and his heart darken.

The young dapple colt is now a monster of seventeen hands in height with pure golden eyes and an inclination to kill.


Knox sees nothing as he forces his eyes wide open and cries out again, creating a sound akin to a dying cry. His throat gurgles as the taste of blood is pushed back up it, and his body slowly begins to convulse as the bridle slides down and begins to choke him.

In a second he remembers everything. He sees his brother lying dead on the floor, having failed the test put in place by the imps. He sees his kin's flesh hanging from wicked nails, and he roars.

He leaps forward and strikes out at the frail ancient beings, clinging to the last scrap of his soul and the faint memory of his true purpose.


Knox falls to his knees and shudders, choking on a lack of air and an overwhelming taste of blood. The stuff dribbles from his open mouth, staining his teeth, but he fears it is not truly his own.

Shrieks and howls sound out from the manor and three sets of claws strike out at the monster of their own creation. There is a snap as they make contact and the bridle snaps. Blood flows from the colt's cheek from two wounds, and a strange chanting mixes with the cries.

He feels his soul grow stronger as he clings to the memory of his brother, but with each moment he retains himself the gashes upon his cheek burn with a ferocity he has never before experienced. The lights around him dim as he feels his vision fade, the sounds around him dull to muffled bumps and blows. The power he was briefly gifted is wrenched from him painfully, and the shadows that surrounded him with the intent of gifting him with the power to shapeshift dissipate.


Manhattan runs fearfully around her master, letting out pathetic yowls and cries as he falls upon his side and his eyes roll back into their sockets.

He is blind and deaf. He tries to cry out and finds his voice gone, replaced instead by a deep cough. He rears to shake a weight off of his back and turns to run, but cannot see his way. A torch falls and the ancient ruins set themselves aflame, surrounding him in heat and the scent of his own blood. He runs at a full gallop, leaving behind him three shrieking monsters and his brother's broken body. He does not stop running.

Johnny is Johnny no more. The ash chokes him as he gallops away from the scene of the crime, and he regains his hearing with each hoofbeat taken out of the Old Country where he was born. The Old Country where he lived alongside his brother until that fateful day when they both entered the manor to face their fate.


Knox loses all sense of being alive as he writhes upon the ground, and though the bridle loosens and the blood that has pooled beside his mouth stops its flow, he tastes ash and hears the heavy thud of hoofbeats.

He wanders for days, his hearing returning to him, his voice coming back in short bursts. He speaks and sounds a different stallion- he looks out into a great forest and sees only a blur. Within the gateway he meets a stranger and for the first time in seasons, he speaks his name. His tongue curls to form a J but instead creates a new identity as a part of a curse.

The young stallion named Roanne enters the land of Isilme.


Knox lies panting in a pool of his own blood beside the body of his father. Voices fade from his mind and the last of the great Sentinel's life flashes in his mind. His eyes open and he sees a familiar filly before him. Manhattan lies beside him, licking his face with concern. For the first time there is expression in his eyes, bright and alive. He coughs and his lips curl upwards to form the first smile he has ever expressed. Knox speaks with a clear and quiet mind no longer plagued by spectres of the past, acting as if nothing has just occurred.

"So you knew my pop, huh?"

knox</style>
& manhattan</style>


Cassandra Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#5
Stupid black colt lunges at her - eyes wide with fury. In haste, the grey girl scrambles backwards, nostrils flaring as they suck air in. But his teeth never meet flesh, and that gaping mouth contorts into a howl. He backs away as well, leaving the iron thing to stand still, as if witnessing someone being stricken by lightning. His eyes flash with fear, and she should relish it, but instead there is a hollow feeling. Was she born and does she live for the fear of others? What would father think of her now? Grey eyes flick towards the pile of bones and meat and skin laying on the ground awkwardly. A monster, someone says inside her head, you are born of dogs, not sentinels, you are not fit to be his daughter. She sneers, tossing her head raucously and contemplating making a run for it.

The bridle on his face, her father's bridle, pulsates with sickly green, casting his expression in something which haunts her. Mesmerized, the girl is frozen, ears flicking back and forth uncertainly. He falls onto his knees, blood gurgling from his lips, dripping onto the leaves below. A sickly sense of relief grasps her - she does not have to kill him, she does not have to tarnish her father's name - another glance at the corpse, like the elephant in the room.

Black mutt runs around her master in stupid circles. Perhaps she will need someone to take her out of her misery? Cassandra contemplates this with disgust, eyeing the Labrador with a similar notion in those bloodstained eyes. She finds herself compelled by some otherworldly force to come closer, drawn by the convulsing boy in the pool of his own blood. Ears facing forward alertly, she pauses several feet away, close enough to smell the blood, to memorize its components.

His eyes open and a smile crawls onto his face, like some madman on the prowl. Irises are close to her color, although there is a hint of blue instead of cold cold steel. Face leans closer, she can taste his breath now. He speaks - voice clear and bright; those grey eyes widen in surprise at the words. "Brother?" her voice drops to a whisper, trembling with emotion. Eyes narrow. How could someone so great as her father produce such a weak thing, laying in a pool of his own blood. "Of course I know him," she says with indignity, "- he is my father." She does not know much about family, but there is something she should do, she thinks, something tender and sweet to the blood of her blood.

So: unceremoniously, with mechanical movement, the girl nudges her brother on the cheek, taking in the metallic smell of blood. With an expression of no expression, she takes him in;

brother.
black.
dog.
blood.

Roanne.

Family.

"Get up," she says softly, backing away to give him a berth of space. "And get clean, you have blood on your face."

Knox Posts: 262
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17hh :: 7 Years [Tallsun] HP: 67.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Jen
#6

image by deadair @ flickr.com</style>

round up all the pieces, but they just don't fit the same.</style>



Little colt feels weak as he consistently expresses emotion for the first time in his short life. The blood that has spattered around him in small puddles and smattered patterns fills his senses with the coppery taste of death, and upon recognition, he pulls himself out of it. Cassandra tells him to do the same just as he begins to rise, and he becomes aware of the fact not only that she had reached out to him, but that she is now gone.

He misses her touch. In the dark he feels alone, in his life he seems burdened. Manhattan is his only escape- he sees the young pup as his salvation, his last link to sanity and what separates him from his family. He watches her now with a tender gaze that he cannot force to meet Cassandra's. There is some sort of pain there that he does not fully understand, but knows he has indirectly caused. He feels guilt for the first time and with it a sense of self loathing.

Still, he remembers her touch. He pulls himself forward, absentmindedly lowering his nose down to he chest to swipe away some of his own blood before advancing towards her. He does not want a berth of space, he wants to be beside her and he does not know why. He wants to be close to those his father loved, wants to understand them as the sentinel once did, to feel what he felt for them. He wants to be his father, to leave behind the ingrained commands of his mother, to forget the voice telling him to come and drink the great Sentinel's blood. He realizes suddenly that he wants everything in his life to change, and that this may be his first and only chance to do just that.

"Where will you go?" He asks, pushing aside the pup who now jumps frantically at his legs and begs for attention. He feels a word strange on the tongue and odd in the mind begin to form- a strange word he would never have expected to experience. "Sister..." there it is, uttered like a song whispered on the wind, a prayer in the night. "I have to leave this place, to change the path that I've been born on. You knew our father, perhaps... perhaps you know me as well."


knox</style>
& manhattan</style>



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